Kashmir
by The Sinful Archer
Summary: It's been four wonderful years of bliss since Raikov and Volgin have been reunited, but someome else has other plans... (Sequel to Sympathy for the Devil)
1. Chapter 1

Kashmir

Everything took on a hazy shape as Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov opened his baby blue eyes and felt the presence of his lover in bed next to him. His body still ached dully from last night's activities, and he smiled fondly at the memory. Today marked four years that they'd been back together, and things felt right again. Ivan sighed happily, wanting to snuggle closer to his gently snoring lover, but deciding it was best for him to get up instead and let Volgin sleep. He rolled over, but was greeted with something unexpected: the barrel of a gun. A quiet voice spoke.

"You're going to do exactly as we say, or we'll shoot the both of you. Got it, Blondie?" Ivan's eyes widened, his stomach clenched. He nodded. The man motioned for him to stand up and tossed him a uniform. Oh, this was a uniform he knew. His old Major uniform from all those years back in Groznyj Grad… He put it on, quietly, not wanting to wake his Zhenya, and was led downstairs and out of the house. Questions flooded through his mind. How had these people found them? What were they going to do? As they led him out into the snow, he wondered if this was how his darling would find him: dead on the ground, the snow around him painted red with his blood. His eyes landed on a caravan, and he was shoved into the back of it. He felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his head as he turned to look at his home. The engine began to roar, and suddenly Ivan saw something.

"VANYA!" Volgin's voice, full of fear and rage, filled the snowy air.

"Zhenya! Help me! Don't let them take me!" Ivan screamed, watching as his lover sprinted forward as the car began to move.

The sound of a crack,

The scent of blood,

The throbbing pain,

And then blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

_Even as a child, something drew him to Volgin. Perhaps it was his kindness to the boy, or how he always brought him some small treat when he dropped by._

 _Maybe it was the smell. Yes, that had to have been it. The scent Volgin carried was mysterious and completely unknown to Ivan at the time. It was intoxicating, drawing the little boy into the man's lap for a moment under the guise that he wanted to be warmed up by Volgin's body heat. It wasn't until years later that Ivan knew that scent so well he could probably pick it out anywhere._

 _Blood. It was warm, sticky, metallic, and Groznyj Grad reeked of it. It was the sign of torture going on in underground rooms, of traitors being disposed of, and most of all, it was the scent of Ivan's lover._

 _It was a smell he would never stop loving._

Ivan woke up, feeling the scratch of a burlap sack over his head. He raised it slightly, and felt his entire body throb with pain. The situation brought back an unpleasant memory of the day that damned American had stolen his clothes. Waking up in a locker had scared Ivan out of his wits, and waking up in his underwear after being knocked out by a strange man… Well, his mind had definitely wandered to uncomfortable speculations about what had gone on while he was out…

Now, six years later, Ivan was feeling that same pit of dread in his stomach, but this time tinged with the scent of blood. He heard a voice to his left, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin.

"Hey, the fag's up! What do you want me to do with him?" Ivan almost vomited at their use of that word. It was not one he was unfamiliar with, but it made him fear for his life every time he heard it.

"Shit, already? We need to keep him under until at least tomorrow. Stick him, he'll be back down in no time." Ivan's mind rushed to keep up with their words, and the only thing he could see was vague light streaming through the gaps in the weaving of the bag over his head, and the silhouettes of the people in the truck. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck and cried out. Almost immediately, total blackness engulfed his senses again.

Volgin sat, head in hands, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Even he couldn't chase a truck, and he doubted the police would be too willing to help wanted criminals. How was he going to get his darling Vanya out of this? He poured himself a glass of strong liquor and drank. Without a doubt, those men were former officers under Raikov, that much was clear. Who else would want to hurt him? He took a moment, looking around their home as if some miracle would catch his eye.

And then, it did. Ivan had insisted on them taking a picture with Katya before she left. He'd always been sentimental, and considered Katya a friend after she had helped him find Volgin. As Volgin's eyes now found the picture, he realized that Katya would be just the person to help him find his Vanya. Taking the picture out of its frame, Volgin turned it over.

 _If you ever need help again, just let me know._

 _-Katya_

A phone number followed that, and Volgin eagerly made his way to the phone. It rang three times before a familiar voice answered.

"Who is it?" Katya's voice came, not even bothering with a hello. Volgin followed suit.

"Katya, it's Volgin. Something's happened to Ivan."


	3. Chapter 3

When he woke up again, Ivan realized that someone was carrying him. Where, he didn't know, but it made him nervous, and he figured it would be safest to pretend he was still out cold. He made sure he was limp in the person's arms, and squeezed his eyes shut. Doing this reminded him of when he was a child on long car trips, and he would pretend to be asleep when they got home so his parents would carry him to bed. Now, however, he was twenty-three, and had no idea where he was going or what would become of him when he got there. The most logical assumption was that he would be killed or tortured, or worse. He didn't want to think about what could be worse, but it was still a very real possibility. Suddenly, he was tossed unceremoniously into the back of some place dark and dank. A door slammed and he heard footsteps and chatter all around, and then a deafening roar as an engine came to life. Ah, so he was on a plane!

Oh god, he was on a plane…

How was he going to get out of this? His mind raced as he felt it move, and before he knew it, the bag was being yanked off his head.

"Hey! Wake up!" the man's voice called, and Ivan winced as his eyes were exposed suddenly to the sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Where are we? Where are you taking me?" He whimpered, meaning it to sound threatening. The man laughed and grabbed a fistful of Ivan's pale blonde locks.

"Y'know, it's a shame you're not a lady. You'd be a damn pretty one. I'm tempted to ask the commander if I can have a turn with you once he's had his fill. Maybe if I gagged you or put you in a dress I could pretend you were a girl. How 'bout that? The base gets awful lonely." Ivan spit in the man's face, and received a sharp slap across the cheek for doing so.

"Go to fucking hell, you disgusting creep!" He replied, and the man flung him to the ground by his hair. Ivan's skull throbbed as his head hit the floor, and his vision swam, nearly making him vomit.

"Don't think I won't be telling the commander about that, you little _bitch_." The man growled, standing up and leaving that section of the plane. Looking around now, Ivan realized it must've been some kind of cargo plane. Great; what else was he being shipped to god-knew-where with? Drugs? He coughed and spat up blood, his fall having smacked his inner cheek pretty hard. The man made his skin crawl, and who the hell was this "commander" he was talking about? Ivan knew he wasn't alone in this section of the plane; he could feel eyes on his back. That was a talent he had always been proud of: being able to tell when someone was staring at him. Okay, he thought, now might be a good time to get some answers.

"Who's there?" He asked, knowing he would feel like a complete dumbass if the room turned out to be empty after all.

"Someone's clever. How'd you know I was here?"

"I just could. So, where's this plane going?"

"Well, you know why you're here, right?" Ivan paused after hearing the man's words, his stomach churning as he recalled Volgin standing to the side as Raikov beat a lower-ranked soldier.

"More or less…"

"Well, after you and the Colonel disappeared, a bunch of the soldiers decided to get revenge. We were told that he was dead, but you were still alive. Long story short, we tracked you down; someone gave us your current hideout about a week or so ago, and when we get to South America, the commander is going to want you." Ivan let the information sit for a moment. He could wait to find out who this commander was, but who had sold him out? Only one person other than Volgin knew of their hideout…

"You said you got Intel from someone… What was the name they gave you? Can you remember?"

"I think it was… Katya. Yeah, real pretty girl, too. Why?"

"So who took him?"

"I think it must have been some of our old soldiers from back at Groznyj Grad. Who else could it have been?"

"I don't know, but if it's them, I know where they are."

"Where!? You have to tell me!" Volgin shook Katya by her shoulders and she shoved his hands away. They'd met up; it just so happened she was within a reasonable distance taking care of a mission, but she had agreed to help Volgin find his lover.

"Well, it's far. South America. Now I'm not sure where, but-" Volgin cut her off and pulled her outside.

"I don't care what it takes, Katya! I'm going to keep my Vanya safe if it's the last thing I do!"

***  
 _How could she just betray us like that?_

The thought rushed through Ivan's mind over and over again, taunting him. Indeed, how could Katya tell someone where they were? She had told Ivan when they first met that all she wanted was the man who had put the colonel in a coma in the first place. Ivan let his head rest against the ground in defeat.

"So," he muttered, feeling tears well up in his eyes, "why are you answering all my questions, anyway?"

"Well, I figure you're a dead man either way. No reason you should die not knowing what's going on."

"Thanks." Ivan said sarcastically, letting a tear slide down his temple and plop against the ground. He let his eyes close, and prayed desperately that this was all some kind of dream.

It wasn't.


	4. Chapter 4

_Ivan and his brothers knelt before the priest, who handed them one by one a small piece of bread. Ivan had already eagerly swallowed his down when the other priest came by with a goblet of wine. Goblet really was the best word to describe the gold cup, covered in intricate designs. The man held it out to Ivan, and this was a very old memory. He must have been only four or five when this happened. He opened his small mouth and the man pressed the cup's rim gently to his lips so the boy could take a sip. As Ivan swallowed a mouthful of the burning, bitter liquid, the priest (relatively young and handsome, though still an adult) gently rested a hand on Ivan's silky blonde curls, stroking gently before moving on to his mother._

 _Ivan could remember that touch, though brief it was, and he could still remember the way his stomach had jumped and his heart had fluttered. Perhaps that was when he had subconsciously realized how intoxicating it was to have the attention of an older man. He could also remember when he was just a little ballerina, and when Volgin would come pick him up from practice when he was thirteen. They would come home late, having agreed on an excuse that they went out for ice cream instead of the reality that they had found somewhere secluded and made love in the back of the car._

 _Those days, oh, they were so far away now, it seemed. In reality, it had only been ten years since then, but it felt like an eternity. Any time away from Volgin felt like an eternity._

Ivan didn't know how he had managed to fall asleep, but it was certainly apparent that he had not done so in a comfortable position. His entire body ached and groaned as he felt someone kick him awake and force him into a standing position. Again he was blindfolded, but this time a gag was also forced into his mouth. He felt the scratchiness of a rope around his neck, and he was led forward by it like he was being led to the gallows. He seemed to walk for hours before light faded and he heard a door slam shut behind him. There was a click as a single light bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling was turned on, and footsteps clicked against the grungy floor. Suddenly, the burlap sack was yanked off of Ivan's head and he looked around, eyes adjusting slowly to the light.

Before him stood a man who looked to be 6'2", with thick, dark hair and a wicked grin. Everything about him seemed to give him away as a leader in Ivan's mind, and the man's hair was pulled back from his face in a low ponytail. Perhaps this would look silly on anyone else, but on this man it looked professional. When he opened his lips to reveal his straight teeth, slightly stained by what were probably years of smoking cigarettes, Ivan felt sick. His smile was jagged like a knife, and his eyes were black as coal. He stepped forward, rubbing his stubbled chin, and examined Ivan.

"So, you must be the Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov I've heard so much about."

"Y-yes…" Ivan muttered, intimidated by the man's stature and his deep voice, graced by some European accent that Ivan couldn't place right away. The man reached out and grabbed a fistful of Ivan's hair before pulling him close.

"Hmm… You are as pretty as I remember. Tell me, _Major_ ," the man purred, saying the last word as if it tasted horrible in his mouth, "Do you remember me?"

"You know, most people don't call me Katya anymore."

"Oh really?" Volgin feigned interest as he helped the young woman pack her small rucksack of weapons and clothes into the trunk of his car, "What do they call you?"

"Well, lots of different things. Recently, though, 'Lethal Butterfly' is one that's kind of caught my eye." She responded, slamming the trunk and walking over to the passenger seat.

"Hmm, I'm not sure about that one. I don't think it quite suits you. Butterflies aren't something immediately considered deadly."

"Well it's a good thing people aren't calling _you_ that then, isn't it?" Katya slammed the door as she sat down. Volgin couldn't help but admire how feisty she was. And, looking at her now as he got in the driver's seat, she was really a sight to behold. Her entire body was definitely muscular, but not immediately noticeable when you looked at her. Her messily cropped brown hair and pouty pink lips almost made her look childish, but there was something definitely dangerous about her. She held herself with confidence and pride, and Volgin admired that. Still, one couldn't help but take notice of her more delicate features as well. Her pert nose and shapely figure were also something to look at, even covered by sensible clothes. Volgin studied her shortly before starting the car. She had to be around Ivan's age, and she definitely acted quite childish at times like he did. They both looked quite childish, though they were in their twenties, and Volgin had always had a weakness for childish innocence, or at least the appearance of it.

Perhaps having Katya as his partner on this search wouldn't be so bad…

"Wh-what?" Ivan sputtered out the word, reeling in confusion at the question.

"I said, 'do you remember me?' What, are you a dumb blonde too?" Ivan studied the man's face, praying for some kind of recognition to hit him

He found none.

"N-no… I'm s-s-sorry…" Ivan whimpered submissively, eyes darting down to the stained floor. The Commander made a disgusted noise and tossed Ivan to the ground, relishing in the sickening crunch his nose made when it impacted against the concrete floor, blood gushing forth.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. I was probably just another soldier to bully to you, wasn't I? Just another way to _entertain_ you when the Colonel wasn't around to fuck you." Ivan rolled over to his side, spitting out blood and trying in vain to wipe his broken nose on his shoulder, whimpering in agony. The Commander kicked Ivan in the ribs and knelt down to get a better look at the boy coughing up blood on his floor. "You, Major, are a disgusting excuse for a human being. You sicken me. You are the kind of man that makes this world deserve to burn." He threaded his fingers through Ivan's tangled hair before yanking him up by it. Ivan yelped in pain, blood flooding his mouth and throat.

"Well," the man said, "at least I can put you in your place." Ivan heard the sound of a zipper, and felt his stomach churn.

The sky was darkening now, and Volgin realized that they would have to stop soon. When they hit a traffic jam, he took a moment to observe Katya again. She appeared to be sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, head resting against the foggy window. Her nose was pink, and freckles were sprinkled on her nose and cheeks. Her skin wasn't exactly pale, more tanned than Ivan's porcelain complexion, certainly. She was quite beautiful: long lashes framing startlingly green eyes, hair framing her round face, plump lips… It took all Volgin's concentration to turn his gaze back to the road and remember his Ivan. Yes, Ivan was the reason they were working together in the first place, and he couldn't betray his Vanya once again. After Tatyana, he was reluctant to take his chances with beautiful women anyway.

Of course, that hadn't always been the case, he mused as the traffic finally let up so he could continue down the road. There had been a woman once, long before Tatyana, and even before Ivan.

Her name was Nadine.

She was beautiful, and Volgin could still recall her with the sharpest accuracy. Her hair was pale blonde, like spun gold, and her eyes were as deep blue as the sea. Skin like a doll's and a smile that made his heart melt. They were married in the dead of the winter as young adults, and only a few months later they conceived a child. When the baby was born, she was named Gala. As she grew, she was clearly a very playful child. Volgin could still see his daughter running through fields of flowers and coming home with bug bites and scraped knees.

They were taken from him too soon, his past catching up with him. He hated it, hated having to dream at night of that memory, the light leaving the eyes of his daughter, only five years old. He hated having to see his wife cough up blood, feeling her go limp in his arms.

That day, something in him snapped. Seeing his wife and daughter murdered before him awoke a long-silent rage within him. He took revenge on their killers, snapping their necks, beating them to death. After they were dead, it was easy to wash the blood from his hands and escape somewhere new. A snowy part of Belarus became his new home. He was resigned, cold, and alone. A few years later, however, he met a young couple: a Russian man and French woman named Gustav and Camille, who were expecting their first baby. They were newly married, and very kind when they moved next door to him. Over the years, they became close, and by the time they were expecting their third baby, Volgin had risen to the rank of Colonel.

After that, Ivan was born and grew like a weed. He was certainly a strange child, preferring to play out in the snow and hang around Volgin rather than interact with other children his age. Perhaps it was some odd similarity the boy had to Volgin's lost love, or that he reminded Volgin of his daughter, but he felt a very strong attachment to him. His father was a rather strict military man, a stark contrast to his youngest son who behaved in more typically feminine ways than were expected of him. He enjoyed wearing skirts and dresses when he could, which upset his father greatly, but his mother was always able to talk Gustav into letting the boy "experiment". Volgin became his enabler, and bought the child anything he wanted. When the boy begged his parents to begin taking ballet at the age of five, Volgin was the one to talk them into it.

After that, it was all leading up to where and what Volgin was now, a dead man looking for his much younger lover with the help of an attractive young woman.

"It's getting late," Katya spoke suddenly, rubbing her eyes and yawning, "I could drive if you want."

"No, it's probably best if we just stop for the night," Volgin sighed wearily, "there's a hotel up here." Katya nodded and stretched, letting out a small noise as she did so. Volgin let his eyes drift towards her chest once again for a moment, and was flooded with less than appropriate thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Ivan was shoved unceremoniously into a shower room, someone at least taking the time to turn on the water before they left, door slamming loudly behind them. The young man was curled up on the ground, sobbing as the searing water spattered against his porcelain skin, dabbling it with splotches of bright pink. He sat up hesitantly, his entire body sore and screaming in pain and protest. He wept, watching blood and other fluids run down the drain, feeling broken and unclean. He took a moment to lean over to vomit, sobbing herder as bile burned his throat. This was wrong, so wrong. It had to be some kind of dream! Some kind of sick nightmare! Yes, that was it. Any moment now Ivan would wake up sobbing and Volgin would wrap his arms around him and comfort the boy.

As much as he wanted to believe it, Ivan knew that wasn't the case though. This, all of this, was very real, and it looked like just the beginning of Hell. He stared, detached, at his new open wounds, blood welling up and being washed down the drain as soon as it appeared. Ivan wondered how long he would last here. He knew he was nowhere near as resilient against torture as he should be, but the closest he'd ever gotten to that was when he and Volgin had sex. Ivan had known it was dangerous to be as sheltered as he was in his line of work, but he hadn't known then that he would have to be prepared for something like this.

A mirror rested on the wall across from him, or rather, WAS the wall across from him. Ivan stood up on weak legs, and walked towards it. He could already see bruises developing, and his nose was definitely broken. A black eye was forming, and there were several gashes all over his body, along with the many scars he'd acquired from both playing roughly as a child and Volgin's lightning. His fingers traced over the particularly large, jagged scar that ran from the place over his heart, along his ribcage and side, down to the small of his back. It was a scar Volgin had accidentally given him at the tender age of thirteen, and they'd been barred from seeing each other for quite awhile after that. The burn had taken a long, long time to heal. It was deep, and it was painful, but he had lived. Volgin still felt horrible every time he looked at that scar.

A loud banging on the door interrupted Ivan's memories, pulling him back to painful reality, bringing his intense bodily pain back with it.

"Hurry up in there, Scum! The Commander wants you!" Ivan's stomach twisted, and he vomited again.

Katya began stripping down almost as soon as she and Volgin entered the hotel room, catching the man off guard.

"What the hell are you-?!"

"Changing. It was hot as hell in that car, and I don't care if anyone sees. If you're going to be a pussy about it, you can wait in the bathroom until I'm done. I'm not gonna try and change in that modified closet." Volgin shook his head and sat down on the second bed in the room, finding a way to admire Katya out of the corner of his eye. She was petite, but there was a definite muscular tone to her body. Freckles were sprinkled over her shoulders, and Volgin found himself drawn as well to the delicate sloping curve of her breasts: soft, supple skin forming two generous but not overly large peaks on her thin frame, two pink buds resting atop them almost like an afterthought. She was beautiful in a casual, childish way, and Volgin could not be more drawn to her.

"Take a picture," her voice jolted him from his admiration, "it'll last longer." Katya pulled her hair back into a ponytail and smirked at him as she spoke before grabbing her bra.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Yeah, yeah, you dirty old man. Just shut up before you make your situation worse. I may be a lot smaller than you, but I can still easily kick your ass." Volgin nodded, not knowing quite why he found himself wanting to keep in good graces with this girl. She was certainly something; that was for sure.

And Volgin quite admired any woman who could render him speechless.

In that moment of weakness, he could not remember why he and Katya were together in the first place, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Ivan felt sick. He felt wrong and dirty, and all he wanted was to run into Volgin's arms and feel safe.

Not that this was an option at the moment. As the thought crossed his mind, the last of his clothes were removed, and the last rope was tied to restrain him. The Commander sat back, admiring his work, and simply eyed the boy for a moment.

"Well, I will give the Colonel credit: he has good taste in toys. You really are something to behold. And look at all those scars!" Ivan felt hot tears run down his pallid cheeks as the man stood up and began to trace along his various scars with a finger. He stopped when he reached the largest one, finger pressing against the place over his heart where it began.

"This one…" the man muttered, "This one has a story, I can tell. Ooh, I bet this one hurt like hell. Pretty deep… Looks like it was a burn. Am I right about that?"

Ivan sobbed.

"Ah, so it is… I think I know who gave it to you. Just look at the shape! Exquisite… The Colonel certainly has a unique way of marking his property, but…" The man's evil eyes found their way to Ivan's, and he smiled so wide he looked inhuman. "I think I've got a better one."


	6. Chapter 6

The gag was removed from Ivan's mouth, and he began frantically asking questions and crying. He wished to god he could stop for a second, but he couldn't find it in himself.

"P-please! What's going on?" he babbled, looking around as best he could through his tear-filled eyes.

"Well, I'm going to mark you. You're my property now, and I want others to know that. So I'm going to leave my mark on you!"

"M-mark?" Ivan whimpered, watching in horror as the Commander pulled on a pair of thick gloves and started a fire in a fireplace. He pulled a radio from his hip and spoke something into it in a language Ivan didn't know. Within minutes, the fire was roaring and two soldiers brought in a heavy-looking box. The Commander dismissed them and locked the door, smirking down at the young man on his knees, arms tied behind his back, chained to the floor. He turned to the box and opened it, pulling out several long metal rods one by one. Ivan's heart pounded harder as he noticed the shapes on the end of them. So that was what he meant by "mark".

He began to beg and plead in desperation as the Commander held one of the shapes in the fire and it began to heat up and glow bright red.

"Please! Don't do this! I'll do anything!" He sobbed, screaming and begging for mercy. The Commander only chuckled as he took the branding iron out of the fire and inspected it.

"Perfect. This will do nicely. Now stay still so you don't mess this up." Ivan watched the glowing shape come towards him, and he could already feel the heat before it touched his skin. When it hit, a scream tore through the boy's throat, louder and more pained than any noise he had ever let out in all his 23 years, and he could swear that he heard his flesh sizzling as it was burned. Finally, after what seemed like years, the source of intense heat and pain was removed, and Ivan instantly began sobbing harder than he ever had before.

"Why are you crying already? That was only the first letter!"

Ivan's vision went black.

Volgin woke to the sound of Katya's voice.

"Hey, wake up. My bed has crappy springs. They're scratching me. Mind if I share with you?" Volgin rubbed his eyes and looked up at the girl. Her hair was messy and tangled from tossing and turning, and her arms were crossed impatiently. He sighed and moved over as best he could; it was a small bed, and he was a large man. There wasn't much room left for Katya, but she managed to squeeze in next to him. Of course, that meant there wasn't much room left between him. Volgin couldn't help but be reminded of the movie Lolita, and mentally chastised himself. This just seemed too good to be true, which meant it probably wasn't true at all. Still, he didn't want Katya to know he was suspicious of her. As he lay in bed next to the girl, he felt how warm she was, how fragile compared to him. Her eyes closed, and he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest and stomach as she drifted off. When he looked at her now, all he could see was Ivan. All he could see was Ivan snoozing on the couch in their house, long, thick eyelashes framing his baby blues, hair falling just so over his face, a thin trail of drool leaking out of the corner of the boy's mouth and onto the fabric of the sofa. Volgin wanted that boy back more than anything, wanted to hold him in his arms and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

He wasn't the praying type, but he said a silent prayer before he drifted off to sleep that wherever Ivan was, he would be okay. He would last.

He had to.

In the days to come, Ivan was not what you could call "responsive". After all the trauma and pain that had been inflicted on him, he had completely shut down. He couldn't cry, couldn't talk, couldn't eat or drink or sleep. All he did was lie there, staring off into the distance at something nobody but him could see. The brands on his chest, covered by copious amounts of ointment and bandages, were five letters.

They spelled "WHORE".

The letters were blocky and large, and Ivan had passed out after the O had been burned into his chest.

The Commander had said he was surprised someone as weak as Ivan had lasted even that long. Right now, the boy was in the medical bay, recovering from both physical and mental trauma. There wasn't much they could do but wait for him to come back to consciousness, but it was likely that even then the Commander's torture would resume once again.

On a bright day Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov began to live again.

His eyes began to see things that existed, and he was ravenous, eating every scrap of food they allowed him to have. He cried because of the pain, begged for more and more anesthetic and morphine. The morphine alone was something to live for, a brief respite from the pain and agony of living on this base. Nobody knew what had happened to the boy when he had become unresponsive, but they didn't dare ask. They were almost afraid of the answer he would give.

 _"…And I just don't know WHAT you see in her!" Ivan's voice was callus and snarky as he ranted angrily about Tatyana. Volgin had insisted the boy accompany him on a walk, and he'd taken the opportunity to let Volgin know that he was very unhappy with their current situation, particularly the busty female part of it. "Where are we going, anyway?" the boy questioned, jogging to catch up with his paramour._

 _"Somewhere you haven't been, Vanya. You'll like it. I promise."_

 _"Humph. You said that when you brought HER home…" Ivan mumbled. The two walked in silence after that, warm, late summer evening air blowing through the younger's lengthy hair. His mother, were she here, would have taken a pair of scissors to it long ago, muttering fondly about her youngest son always insisting on looking "shaggy"._

 _Sometimes, it really hit Ivan unexpectedly how much he missed her. She was whom he had gotten his blue eyes and blonde hair from, a stark contrast to his dark-haired older brothers and father with their emerald green eyes. Ivan and his mother had always shared a special bond; she was always the one to protect the boy from his father's judgment of his likes and hobbies. She was the one who had talked Gustav into letting Ivan continue his ballet lessons and wear more feminine clothes around their home. Camille Raikov: the only woman Ivan had ever admired. Once she was gone, he hadn't wanted to talk to a woman again. He didn't see the point if it wasn't his mama._

 _"Well, here we are." Volgin's voice pulled Ivan out of his thoughts, and he looked around with wide blue eyes. They were standing in a clearing, thick moss hanging from tree branches and dandelions dancing in the wind. Above, there was a gap in the trees, and through it you could see the large, full moon, surrounded by multitudes of stars. Fireflies blinked occasionally, bringing with them faded memories of clasping desperately at the fat, surprisingly heavy bugs, and screaming as they landed on Ivan's hands. The scent alone of the place, earthy and sweet with late summer flora, made Ivan feel like he was just a child again, splashing through mud puddles with Aly and Stas and coming home with scraped knees and torn clothes and needing several baths to get all the dirt out of his thick blonde curls._

 _"Oh my god… Zhenya… It's… Oh wow…" Ivan was robbed of words by the place and all the things it awoke in him, heart pounding as he looked up at the moon. It was still early enough in the evening that it was the color of honey. He didn't notice Volgin wrapping his arms around him until the man was pressing gentle kisses just behind his ear. Ivan blushed, gloved hands running over his lover's, and sighed contentedly. God, he wished he could stay like this forever, warm and safe in Volgin's embrace…_

 _"Ivan?"_

 _"Yes, my darling?"_

 _"Marry me."_

 _Ivan plopped another spoonful of cookie dough onto the baking pan before slipping it into the oven. His lover was sitting comfortably on his armchair in the living room, and Ivan was mentally preparing himself to ask a very difficult question. He started the timer and grasped onto the fabric of his apron in his shaking hands._

 _"So, did you really mean it?" He sighed, stomach churning with upset and nervousness._

 _"Mean what, Lolita?"_

 _"D-don't call me that right now. I'm being serious. When you took me to that clearing… You remember that, don't you? That was the day before… The day before the Shagohod was finished. You asked me to marry you, and you haven't brought it up since, so the real question is… Did you mean it? Or were you just saying it because you knew you might die tomorrow?"_

 _Silence._


	7. Chapter 7

Only a few hours after Volgin had finally managed to drift off, he was awoken by

the sound of running water. Groaning, he turned to look at the bedside clock and felt

anger flare in his chest when he read 4:17 in glowing red letters. He turned towards the

closed bathroom door and glared, as if Katya could somehow receive the effects of his

scalding look through a closed door. After a few seconds, he heard a soft, young voice

drifting from behind the door.

"My gift is my song…and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody, this is

your song…it may be quite simple but, now that it's done…"

To his disgust, he felt himself smile; not the cruel, vicious sneer he was most

accustomed to, but a soft, genuine smile. Maybe it was because it was a song he was

familiar with, and didn't hate. Maybe it was simply because he liked the sound of her

voice. Maybe, and most likely out of the three options, it was because his Vanya sang in

the shower back home; usually Elvis, rather than Elton John, but singing all the same.

Ivan was none too friendly with Americans, but he definitely had an affinity for some of

their music. A sudden jolt in his chest brought him to his senses and painfully reminded

him of why he was there in the first place, in a beat-up motel room listening to a stranger

sing in the shower. He sat bolt-right up in bed, and threw the covers off.

"Katya! Hurry up in there! We need to go save Ivan!" He pounded on the door

with one fist, feeling the wood bend slightly under its force. The singing abruptly

stopped, quickly followed by the water stopping. He heard the rustle of careful

movement, then the door opened just enough for her to peek her face out. It was hidden

by curtains of dark, wet hair, and she was squinting at him, suds still on her face.

"Colonel, let me make a few things clear to you. Number one, I was in the middle

of a shower. I'm not exactly ready. Number two, we are going to save him today, at the

right time. And number three, you are not breaking this door with your freaking bear

arms, because I am not paying for any motel room damages. Are we clear?"

Volgin blinked at her for a second, opened his mouth to retort, and then nodded

silently. She gave him an ironic smile. "Good! Now let me finish showering." Then she

slammed the door in his face.

God, he hated that woman.

Ivan woke up once again, another day in hell, and found himself disappointed that he hadn't died in his sleep. The first sensation was, once again, pain. The burn on his chest were healing but not fast at all. It still felt like heat was trapped under his skin, longing to burst forth and incinerate his entire body.

The second feeling was the pang of hunger.

He received three small bowls of gruel a day, but they were not nearly enough for someone used to rich, heavy meals like him. They were just enough to survive on, and for now, that was what Ivan did: survive. It wasn't living, per se, but existing. He seemed unaffected by time, measuring it by when it was time to wake up, shower, eat, be tortured, and then sleep again. It was a directionless state of being, but it was his nonetheless.

Ivan was led to the Commander as usual: silent and obedient. The man shoved him onto his knees and took a moment to lean forward and admire him.

"You know, Major," he mused, standing up and kicking Ivan onto his back, "I think I've left quite an impression on you. I mean, when you came here you were a bratty, petulant child, and now look at you! You're a quiet, obedient little bitch. Aren't you?" He placed his booted foot on Ivan's chest and leaned forward on that knee, making the boy gasp in pain. " _Aren't you?_ " The Commander repeated with a venomous voice, glaring down at the pained expression of the boy beneath him.

"Y-yes…" Ivan mumbled in shame, feeling hot tears run down his cheeks. "Yes…"


	8. Chapter 8

Ivan was allowed outside for an hour every day. He used this time to simply admire the forest greenery and re-live memories of his childhood. He had grown up next to a forest, and when he and his brothers were young, they used to practically live outside. They spent their days climbing trees and wrestling in the mud, coming home absolutely covered in dirt. Now, as an adult, it was so much different. After all he'd been through, even though he was only 23 years old, all he wanted to do was just sit down and be alone. Of course, he wouldn't be truly alone while there: a guard was positioned nearby to make sure he didn't try anything funny.

A rustle in the nearby greenery came, and Ivan and the guard both snapped to attention. The man drew his gun, and pointed it at the place where he'd heard the noise. It was too big to be a rabbit or a squirrel, so it must have been…

Ivan's heart began to pound furiously. He didn't want to believe it was who he had been praying it was, but… He couldn't help but hope.

Suddenly, Ivan saw something out of the corner of his eye; something that was out of the guard's field of vision. The silhouette of a man stood there, dark camouflage hiding him from immediate detection. The man opened one eye, and raised a finger to his lips, motioning for Ivan to keep quiet. The boy nodded and let his eyes widen. Something about this person seemed almost familiar… He couldn't place it quite yet, but-

"Hey, get inside, kid!" The guard snapped, motioning with his gun for Ivan to go with the other guard there. Ivan nodded, and was escorted away, eyes focusing on that one person hiding among the trees. As he walked past, and the man smiled, the angle shifted and a beam of light illuminated the man's face. All Ivan had time to process was an eyepatch.

No… It couldn't be…

Could it?

"I want to drive!" Katya protested as soon as they were in the hotel's parking lot.

"What? No! Do you even have a license?"

"Yeah, moron. Of course I do. See?" She pulled her wallet out of her bag and removed her license with a flourish, holding it right in Volgin's face.

"Katya Bisognin… You're only 22?" He read skeptically.

"Doesn't mean I can't drive. Now get in the passenger seat, Old Man! I'm driving!" She said triumphantly, opening the driver side door and hopping in. Volgin sighed and walked around to get in the passenger seat. The drive, although short, would clearly feel eternal.

"So, Bisognin. What kind of last name is that?" Volgin asked, desperate to break the silence even though he had never been one for small talk.

"It's mine." Katya responded, eyes never leaving the road.

"No, I mean, what nationality?" Volgin sighed, searching her face.

"Italian. My dad's side was from Italy." She huffed, looking at him as they hit a red light. "Are you always this nosy?"

"N-no, I was just-!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just stop trying."

Volgin was completely bewildered by this girl and how she could render someone like him speechless so easily. The only other woman who had been able to do that was The Boss, and that was for obvious reasons. He had always prided himself on remaining cool and unfazed in most situations, even if he did have a temper. Still, this girl was an enigma. Loud and determined one moment, and then the next… Volgin couldn't help but recall her crawling into bed with him, and how calm and happy she looked when she slept…

Not that he had watched her sleep! She had just happened to be sleeping when he wasn't, and what was he supposed to do? Stare at the wall until he got tired? Admittedly, he had admired her sleeping, but not for long. He had simply taken note of her mouth slightly curled up into a tiny smile, and how her pajamas made her look so comfortable and adorable it should be a crime, and-

"Hey, I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"Sorry I snapped at you for asking questions. It was kind of an asshole thing of me to do. So… Sorry."

"Oh. It's fine. There's nothing to apologize for." After this, there was another bout of silence before Volgin broke it.

"You know, you're only about a year younger than Ivan."

"Yeah, I guess I am. Wait, he's twenty-three?"

"I suppose he is… Yes, it's past February 14th, so he's twenty-three. Why?"

"Nothing, I just never would have guessed it. He looked… older somehow. At least when I met him he did. I don't know. Maybe it was my imagination. But his birthday is Valentine's Day?"

"Yes, I thought it was funny too when I first met him. But fitting. He's very much a romantic, not to mention he loves sweets."

"I can tell," Katya chuckled, stopping as she parked. "We're here. The airport."

"So we are."

A pause again.

"Let's go bring Ivan home."


	9. Chapter 9

"Gentlemen, by now you know we have found signs of an intruder on this base." The Commander said, boots clicking against the floor as he paced back and forth in front of his lined up troops. Ivan could see and hear them from his cell. "And I must ask you to guard this place with your lives. No matter what you do…" His eyes locked with Ivan's, even from quite some distance away.

"Do not let that _worm_ escape, under ANY circumstances. Am I understood?" Ivan shuddered as the remark was met with salutes and a chorus of assentation. "Good. Now go to your posts." The men scattered, and Ivan retreated to curl up on his bed, hiding his face in his pillow. All he could do was re-play seeing that man's face yesterday over and over again in his mind. The smile, the eyepatch… It had to be him. No doubt about it. The man he had seen was obviously-!

"As for you, _maggot_ ," The Colonel sneered, slamming his fist against the bars of Ivan's cell, "I'm going to have to question you to make sure you didn't call one of your dear friends to come and get you."

"B-but I didn't! I swear! How would I have-?"

"Save it for the interrogation, _princess_." He spat, opening the cell and dragging the boy out by his hair.

Once the plane landed, Katya and Volgin got off quickly, picking up a rental car and making their way to another hotel to drop their stuff off.

"So you know where they're keeping him?"

"Yeah. It's kind of remote, but I can get us there."

"Good, let's go."

Nose bleeding and coughing up blood, Ivan was beaten, tortured, and brutalized until the Commander decided that he didn't know anything. Once he was brought back to his cell, he curled up in bed again and cried into his pillow. Old wounds were opened again, and staining his clothes crimson. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the pillow.

When he woke, it was to the sound of light tapping on the bars of the cell.

"Kid, come on. Wake up." A gruff voice said in slightly shoddy Russian.

"Wha-? _You_ …" Ivan looked up and saw _him_. The man who had ruined his life. "What the hell are YOU doing here?!"

"I'm here to bust you out," the man said, looking around and unlocking the cell, opening the door as quietly as possible, "now come on, we don't have much time."

"Tch. As if I'd ever go with the likes of you. I seem to recall you knocking me out and waking up in a locker practically naked!" the man winced at Ivan's remark, obviously hoping he hadn't remembered that.

"Look, I'll apologize later. But do you really want to stay here?" He retorted. Ivan crossed his arms and huffed, sitting on the edge of his bed with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Fine. Then I'm saving you whether you like it or not." The man pulled out a rag and it was over Ivan's mouth and nose before he could even process what was going on. A familiar chemical smell invaded his senses, and everything went black.

The man once known as Naked Snake draped Ivan over his shoulder and carried him out of the building.

Volgin and Katya crept quietly through the forest, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of Ivan or his captors. When they reached a squat, concrete building, Katya nodded at Volgin, signaling that this was what they were looking for.

"Okay," Katya whispered, "they should be keeping him in there. Go do your weird… fire… lightning… thing…" Volgin rolled his eyes and nodded, stepping forward and feeling the heat building in his skin. The door was easily kicked down, and when Volgin stood there in the doorway, he ignored the utter chaos. All eyes were on this imposing figure in the doorway, and everything was silent and still.

"Gentlemen, I believe you have something that belongs to me. I'd like it back now, if you don't mind."

Snake ran through the forest, branches scratching his face and twigs snapping under his boots. It was hard to run while carrying someone, even when they were as small as Raikov, but he managed. Once he was confident that he'd lost their pursuers, he set the boy down on the ground and shook him awake.

"Listen, kid. I don't have time to play games. You're going to have to follow me, and keep up, or you're going to get killed. Got it?" Ivan nodded, and decided that for now, staying with this man was his safest option.

"Good. Now let's get moving. I hear them coming." Snake grabbed Raikov's hand and took off; making the boy run faster than he had in a long, long time in order to keep from falling behind. The wind whipped and whistled through his pale blonde hair as they ran, and Raikov desperately gasped for breath. They ran and ran for what seemed like an eternity before they finally reached a Jeep, parked just on the edge of the forest. Snake hopped in the driver's seat and motioned for Raikov to take cover in the back. He handed the boy a gun.

"Can you shoot?"

"I don't know. I've only ever shot a Makarov before…"

"Close enough. Just aim and pull the trigger. You'll figure it out." Snake slammed on the gas, and Raikov hit the seat as the air was knocked out of his lungs for a moment.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry, kid. Didn't have time to call a valet in the middle of the goddamn woods."

Raikov aimed as best he could as they bumped along the road, but they didn't seem to be being followed. Yet.

Volgin stood surrounded by corpses. He continued to tear apart the building looking for Ivan, and every cell held no answers. Ripping another door off its hinges, he found a man sitting inside.

Just… sitting.

In his hand, he held a glass of wine, and he looked at Volgin calmly.

"Where is he?" Volgin growled, clenching his fists at his sides.

"Oh, the boy? He's long gone by now."

"What. Do. You. Mean?"

"Someone already came and got him. I'm afraid it's someone you already know. Oh, what was he called again? Ah yes, I remember now. Snake."

Volgin felt the heat rise in his skin once again, molten lava coursing through his veins, and his entire body felt like it was on fire.

"Where are they? What is he doing with Ivan?"

"Hell if I know," the man sipped his wine, "but this whole ordeal wasn't my idea, anyway. Not in the beginning."

"Then who-?"

"Hello, Colonel."

Oh god, that voice. No, no no no. Please, no. Anything but this.

Volgin turned around.

 _Fuck._

Ivan, luckily, did not have to shoot the gun once. Nobody appeared to want to chase after a Jeep, especially not on foot. When they were sure there was nobody tailing them, Snake slowed the car to leisurely pace and motioned Raikov to come sit in the passenger seat.

"Sorry."

"Huh?"

"Well I said I'd apologize later, didn't I? For stealing your clothes and everything back in 1964?"

"Oh. Well, I forgive you I guess." Ivan said, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. They drove in silence for a while and Ivan took a moment to look at his new companion. He hadn't noticed when being captured and stripped all those years ago, but the man was certainly handsome. His one eye was vibrant and blue, and he seemed nice enough, for an American. His Russian was a little rusty, but of course Ivan's English was none too great either. Snake was tall, only about a couple inches taller than Ivan, but definitely more muscular. The man looked over at Ivan and caught him staring, making the boy turn away quickly and blush.

"So, do you know English?" He asked, still in Raikov's native tongue.

"Some… I'm fluent in Russian and French, though. Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you back to my base. Not as a prisoner though. Just to keep you safe. You can leave once you're feeling better. I want to have our medic take a look at you."

"Well, I have someone I need to go home to. He's probably looking for me."

"Your father?"

"…You could say that…"

Volgin was face-to-face with Katya and the barrel of a gun.

"You… All this time, it was you?"

"Sorry. Had to get everything lined up somehow."

"But why?"

"There's a high price on your head with powers like yours, Colonel, and I'm not one to pass up a good opportunity when it comes along. No hard feelings, right?" She smiled, "See, the Commander here wanted revenge on your sweet little Vanya, and I wanted to get the money you're worth. There are some high-paying customers who want your head on a silver platter."

"Then why didn't you just kill me sooner?"

"Well where's the fun in that? If I'd done that, you wouldn't get to die knowing that your precious little pet was probably in the arms of the man who defeated you as we speak. Anyway, I don't have time for this. I've got a flight to catch. Goodbye, Colonel. I'll see you in Hell."

There was a gunshot.

And then, there was nothing at all.

At least the people at the base were friendly. Well, aside from the ones who gave him dirty looks. The Medic seemed to be a nice guy though. Ivan showered when he got there, and then was given a look-over by the Medic.

"Well, nothing's broken. But these burns… The Commander did this to you?"

"Yes…"

"Ok. I'll talk to the Boss about it."

"Boss?"

"Oh yeah, he's not exactly Snake anymore. He's Big Boss."

"Hm. Well, I suppose I could get used to that, though it sounds a little pornographic. Anyway, is that all?"

"Well, I'm going to give you some salve and antibiotics for those burns so they don't get infected, but other than that you don't seem to have received any permanent physical damage. You're good to go, kid!"

"Thank you very much." Ivan said, shaking the man's hand shyly before pulling him into a hug. The Medic hugged back awkwardly, not wanting to hurt the burns on the boy's chest.

"It's nothing. Come to me if you have any other medical issues."

"I will. Bye!"

"Bye."

Ivan walked out of the medical bay and into the bright sun, shielding his eyes from it. He had been given a fresh set of clothes after showering, which were a little big for him, but they would do for now. Big Boss had told Ivan that he could have one of the solo bunks for now, and had told him where it was. Ivan walked to it and opened the door, and found the room to be small and dingy, but nothing he couldn't handle after all he'd been through recently. It was a welcome change of pace not to be watched 24/7, and to be in clean clothes in a clean room. He placed his medicine on the small table beside his bed, and turned on the radio that sat atop it.

As a song began to play, Ivan flopped down onto the bed and closed his eyes. Maybe for the first time in a long time, he would really be able to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, Volgin would be there to retrieve him when he woke…

As he drifted off, a lingering tune and the sound of gunfire haunted his dreams.

 _Oh let the sun beat down upon my face,_

 _Stars to fill my dream…_

 _I am a traveler of both time and space,_

 _To be where I have been…_

 **TO BE CONTINUED?**


End file.
